The Outsiders Alternate Ending
by NeverHeardOfFanFicUntilNow
Summary: The Outsiders is the most powerful book I have ever read. This is my take on the ending, decidedly bringing up the mood a little, and keeping one of the sexiest characters in the book alive and well. :  Rated K  because I forget if I use language or not..
1. Chapter 11

We reached the vacant lot just as Dally came in, running as hard as he could, from the opposite direction. The wail of a siren grew louder and then a police car pulled up across the street from the lot. Doors slammed as the policemen leaped out. Dally had reached the circle of light under the street lamp, and skidding to a halt, he turned and thrust is hand into his pocket. I remembered his voice: _I__been__carryin__' __a__heater.__It__ain__'__t__loaded,__but__it__sure__does__help__a__bluff._

It was only yesterday that Dally had told Johnny and me that. But yesterday was years ago. A lifetime ago.

You blasted fool, I thought. They don't know you're only bluffing. And then I realized that was what Dally wanted. Please not him, I thought, not him and Johnny both... realizing what I needed to do, I stumbled sideways, inbetween Dally and the policemen. In the line of fire.

"Ponyboy!" Dally cried out. I was surprised at how much anger his voice held. _"__MOVE!__" _My head was foggy, and the view wasn't fitting together real good, but I staggered forward anyway.

"For God's sake, Pony, get out of the way!" Dally roared. He took a heaving breath, and coughed, "Please."

This tells you how out of it I was: The thought that made it through my haze was, _Did__Dallas__Winston__just__say__please?_ But I kept moving forward, and then suddenly I was at Dally's feet, and then he was lifting me up, trying to throw me out of the way-

"He loved you too Dally," I managed.

Midway through chucking me sideways, he pulled back, and we did a weird spin-around that made the world that much blurrier and me wanna heave. We both hit the ground, the impact jarring my back. I groaned quietly.

"Yeah, kid, I know. He loved the whole dang world, and look what good that did him!"

All I got from that statement was, Dally really wants to be dead. And, for Johnny, I couldn't let that happen.

We sat up, and I whispered, "Put the heater in my pocket."

"What? Are you crazy?"

"No. Put it in my pocket, an' then I'll give it to Two-Bit or someone to get rid of. Then you won't get caught with a heater, and they ain't gonna search me. I'm just a kid."

Dally glared at me and shook my shoulders. "Yeah, Pony, you're just a kid. You got a life to live, which I ain't ruinin' just so I can keep goin'. Why d'you think I'm here?"

I wasn't thinking straight, but the answer seemed pretty obvious. "'Cause of Johnny. That's why I'm here, too."

Dally paused. He shot a glance behind me, and then did the most unDally-like thing I'd ever seen him do. He gave me a hug. I kneeled there completely dumbfounded until I heard a harsh whisper in my ear: Grab it, you idiot.

I jerked my arm out sideways and gave him a quick hug. On the way back, I tugged the gun out of his pocket and shoved it into mine. I stood and turned back towards the gang. Darry was looking like he wanted to come after me, but Soda had an arm on his shoulder. Good ole' Soda, he would know what I was doing. Two-Bit, Steve and Soda looked like they were trying to... _talk_ the cops out of coming over. And it looked like it was working. They were yammering away with their arms out in front of them, and they were blabbing loud enough that the cops stopped to listen. I wobbled toward them, and said surprisingly clearly, "Ok, Dally's ready now."

Soda, Steve and Two-Bit all clamped their traps shut as the cops ran over. The world split in two, and for one terrifying moment I thought it wasn't going back. When it did, I gripped onto Two-Bit's sleeve and said real quiet, "Get Dally's heater outta my pocket and hide it back home."

Two-Bit's eyes widened and he looked down at me. He glanced over at the cops, who were putting handcuffs on an oddly subdued Dally. I'd forgotten he'd still have to do time for robbing the grocery store. I guess it didn't matter much now that I had his gun. Two-Bit reached into my pocket, which almost knocked me off my feet, but I made sure it was safely inside his jeans before I was going to pass out.

I saw Dally pushed into a police car and got a cold feeling in my stomach. What would this time in the cooler do to him? One part of me said not much, the part that knew the Dally that had grown up on the streets of New York and was tough as nails. But the other part of me was scared. The Dally that cared, that had been driven out here because of that caring, would get crushed in jail. Or even worse, disappear again.

Was it too late? I wondered as the world spun around me and sirens filled my ears. Was Dally already hardened to the point of no return? Was it better that way? Blobs of faces and visions of things past were dancing in the red mist the covered the lot. It swirled into a mass of colours and I wondered, Was it too late for all of us? Dally and Johnny and Tim Shepard and Bob and the rest of us? I felt myself swaying on my feet. Someone cried, "Glory, look at the kid!"

And the ground rushed up to meet me very suddenly.

When I woke up, it was light. It was awful quiet. Too quiet. I mean, our house just isn't naturally quiet. The radio's usually going full blast and the TV is turned up loud and people are wrestling and knocking over lamps and tripping over the coffee table and yelling at each other. Something was wrong, but I couldn't quite figure it out. Something had happened... I couldn't remember what. I blinked at Soda bewilderedly. He was sitting on the edge of the bed watching me.

"Soda..." -my voice sounded weak and hoarse- "Is somebody sick?"

"Yeah." His voice was oddly gentle. "Go back to sleep now."

An idea was slowly dawning on me. "Am _I_sick?"

He stroked my hair. "Yeah, you're sick. Now be quiet."

I had one more question. I was still kind of mixed up. "Is Darry sorry I'm sick?" I had a funny feeling that Darry was sad because I was sick. Everything seemed vague and hazy.

Soda gave me a funny look. He was quiet for a moment. "Yeah, he's sorry you're sick. Now please shut up, will ya, honey? Go back to sleep."

I closed my eyes. I was awful tired.

When I woke up next, it was daylight and I was hot under all the blankets on me. I was thirsty and hungry, but my stomach was so uneasy I knew I wouldn't be able to hold anything down. Darry had pulled the armchair into the bedroom and was asleep in it. He should be at work, I thought. Why is he asleep in the armchair?

"Hey, Darry," I said softly, shaking his knee. "Hey, Darry, wake up."

He opened his eyes. "Ponyboy, you okay?"

"Yeah," I said, "I think so."

Something had happened... but I still couldn't remember it, although I was thinking a lot clearer than I was the last time I'd waked up.

He sighed in relief and pushed my hair back. "Gosh, kid, you had us scared to death."

"What was the matter with me?"

He shook his head. "I told you you were in no condition for a rumble. Exhaustion, shock, minor concussion- and then Two-Bit came blubberin' over here with some tale about how you were runnin' a fever before the rumble and how it was all his fault you were sick. He was pretty torn up that night," Darry said. He was quiet for a minute. "We all were."

And then I remembered. Johnny was dead, Dallas torn apart, in jail. Both gone. Don't think of them, I thought. (Don't remember how Johnny was your buddy, don't remember that he didn't want to die. Don't think of Dally breaking up in the hospital, being driven away into the dark. Try to think that Johnny is better off now, that Dallas had been through worse too many times to count. Don't think of the Southern gentlemen. Best of all, don't think. Blank your mind. Don't remember. Don't remember.)

"Where'd I get a concussion?" I said. My head itched, but I couldn't scratch it for the bandage. "How long have I been asleep?"

"You got a concussion from being kicked in the head- Soda saw it. He landed all over that Soc. I've never seen him so mad. I think he could have whipped anyone, in the state he was in. Today's Tuesday, and you've been asleep and delirious since Saturday night. Don't you remember?"

"No," I said slowly. "Darry, I'm not ever going to be able to make up the school that I've missed. And I've still got to go to court and talk to the police about Bob's getting killed. And now... with Dally..." -I took a deep breath- "Darry, do you think they'll split us up? Put me in a home or something?"

He was silent. "I don't know, baby. I just don't know."

I stared at the ceiling. What would it be like, I wondered, staring at a different ceiling? What would it be like in a different bed, a different room? There was a hard, painful lump in my throat that I couldn't swallow.

"Don't you even remember being in the hospital?" Darry asked. He was trying to change the subject.

I shook my head. "I don't remember."

"You kept asking for me and Soda. Sometimes for Mom and Dad, too. But mostly for Soda."

Something in his tone of voice made me look at him. Mostly for Soda. Did I ask for Darry at all, or was he just saying that?

"Darry..." I didn't know quite what I wanted to say. But I had a sick feeling that maybe I hadn't called for him while I was delirious, maybe I had only wanted Sodapop to be with me. What all had I said while I was sick? I couldn't remember. I didn't want to remember.

"Johnny left you his copy of _Gone__with__the__Wind._ Told the nurse he wanted you to have it."

I looked at the paperback lying on the table. I didn't want to finish it. I'd never get past the part where the Southern gentlemen go riding into sure death because they are gallant. Southern gentlemen with big black eyes in blue jeans and T-shirts. Don't remember. Don't try to decide if he died gallant. Don't remember.

"Where's Soda?" I asked, and then I could have kicked myself. Why can't you talk to Darry, you idiot? I said to myself. Why do you feel uncomfortable talking to Darry?

"Asleep, I hope. I thought he was going to go to sleep shaving this morning and cut his throat. I had to push him to bed, but he was out like a light in a second."

Darry's hopes that Soda was asleep were immediately ruined, because he came running in, clad only in a pair of blue jeans.

"Hey, Ponyboy!" he yelped, and leaped for me, but Darry caught him.

"No rough stuff, little buddy."

So Soda had to content himself with bouncing up and down on the bed and pounding my shoulder.

"I'm okay. Just a little hungry."

"I should think you would be," Darry said. "You wouldn't eat anything most of the time you were sick. How'd you like some mushroom soup?"

I suddenly realized just how empty I was. "Man, I'd like that just fine."

"I'll go make some. Sodapop, take it easy with him, okay?"

Soda looked back at him indignantly. "You'd think I was going to challenge him to a track meet or something right off the bat."

"Oh no," I groaned. "Track meet. I guess this just about puts me out of every race. I won't be back in condition for the meets. And the coach was counting on me."

"Golly, there's always next year," Soda said. Soda never has grasped the importance Darry and I put on athletics. Like he never has understood why we went all-out for studying. "Don't sweat it about some track meet."

"Soda," I said suddenly. "What all did I say while I was delirious?"

"Oh, you thought you were in Windrixvillle most of the time. Then you kept saying that Johnny didn't mean to kill that Soc. Hey, I didn't know you didn't like baloney."

I went cold. "I don't like it. I never liked it."

Soda just looked at me. "You used to eat it. That's why you wouldn't eat anything while you were sick. You kept saying you didn't like baloney, no matter what it was we were trying to get you to eat."

"I don't like it," I repeated. "Soda, did I ask for Darry while I was sick?"

"Yeah, sure," he said, looking at me strangely. "You asked for him and me both. Sometimes Mom and Dad. And for Johnny."

"Oh. I thought maybe I didn't ask for Darry. It was bugging me."

Soda grinned. "Well, you did, so don't worry. We stayed with you so much that the doctor told us we were going to end up in the hospital ourselves if we didn't get some sleep. But we didn't get any anyway."

I took a good look at him. He looked completely worn out; there were dark circles under his eyes and he had a tense, tired look to him. Yet his dark eyes were still laughing and carefree and reckless.

"You look beat," I said frankly. "I bet you ain't had three hours sleep since Saturday night."

He grinned but didn't deny it. "Scoot over." He crawled over me and flopped down and before Darry came back in with the soup we were both asleep.


	2. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

The hearing wasn't anything like I thought it would be. Besides Darry and Soda and me, nobody was there except Randy and his parents and Cherry Valance and her parents and a couple of the other guys that had jumped Johnny and me that night. I don't what I expected the whole thing to be like - I guess I've been watching too many Perry Mason shows. Oh, yeah, the doctor was there and he had a long talk with the judge before the hearing. I didn't know what he had to do with it then, but I do now.

First Randy was questioned. He looked a little nervous, and I wished they'd let him have a cigarette. I wished they'd let _me_ have a cigarette; I was more than a little shaky myself. Darry had told me to keep my mouth shut no matter what Randy and everybody else said, that I'd get my turn. All the Socs told the same story and stuck mostly to the truth, except they said that Johnny had killed Bob; but I figured I could straighten that point out when I got my turn. Cherry told them what happened before and after Johnny and I had been jumped - I think I saw a couple of tears slide down her cheeks, but I'm not sure. Her voice sure was steady even if she was crying. The judge questioned everyone carefully, but nothing really exciting or emotional happened like it does on TV. He asked Soda and Darry a little bit about Dally, I think to check our background, find out what kind of guys we hung out with, and straighten out Saturday night. I hoped Dally was behaving himself. I didn't want him in jail any longer than he had to be. Was Dally a real good buddy of ours? Darry said, "Yes, sir," looking straight at the judge, not flinching; but Soda looked at me like he was sentencing me to the electric chair before giving the same answer. I was real proud of both of them. Dally was one of our gang and we wouldn't desert him. I thought the judge would never get around to questioning me. Man, I was scared almost stiff by the time he did. And you know what? He didn't ask me a thing about Bob's getting killed. All the judge did was ask me if I liked living with Darry, if I liked school, what kind of grades I made, and stuff like that. I couldn't figure it out then, but later I found out what the doctor had been talking to the judge about. I guess I looked as scared as I felt, because the judge grinned at me and told me to quit chewing my fingernails. That's a habit I have. Then he said I was acquitted and the whole case was closed. Just like that. Didn't even give me a chance to talk much. But that didn't bother me a lot. I didn't feel like talking anyway.

I wish I could say that everything went back to normal, but it didn't. Especially me. I started running into things, like the door, and kept tripping over the coffee table and losing things. I always have been kind of absent-minded, but man, then, I was lucky if I came home with the right notebook and both shoes on. I walked all the way home once in my stocking feet and didn't even notice until Steve made some bright remark about it. I guess I'd left my shoes in the locker room at school, but I never did find them. And another thing, I quit eating. I used to eat like a horse, but all of the sudden I wasn't hungry. Everything tasted like baloney. I was lousing up in my schoolwork, too. I didn't do too badly in math, because Darry checked over my homework in that and usually caught all my mistakes and made me do it again, but in English I really washed out. I used to makes A's in English, mostly because my teacher made us do compositions all the time. I mean, I know I don't talk good English (have you ever seen a hood that did?), but I can write it good when I try. At least, I could before. Now I was lucky to get a D on a composition.

The whole Dally thing was bugging me, too. "Darry," I asked him one evening, "when's Dally gettin' out of the cooler?"

Darry gave me a funny look. "Pony..." he began, "You can get put in a long time for stealing. Plus, Dallas has a record. I'd say he's in there for at least a year."

"What?" I yelled. I was expecting maybe four months. _At__least_ a year? I couldn't wait that long to talk to him about Johnny's... about Johnny.

"Yeah, he's got to go before a judge before he can even get bailed-"

"We can bail him out!"

"Where we gonna get the dough, Pony?" Darry said, a little sadly.

I sighed in exasperation. "I don't know, I'll get donations something."

Darry let out a small little chuckle. "You do that, little buddy."

So I did. I asked Two-Bit and Steve if they had any spare change to bail Dally out. They had a good laugh over that, but I got 50¢ from each of them.

School was a much bigger disaster. My school buddies gave a couple nickels, but that was about it. The Socs wouldn't even look at me, which didn't make me feel too hot, but also made me feel kind of tuff. I was solely the most-hated person in the school. Tuff.

Things were looking pretty rough until I saw Cherry Valance. Hey, I thought, she said she could've loved Dally, she'll help. "Cherry!" I called. "Hey, Cherry! Cherry Valance!"

She didn't turn around. I walked up to her, shouting her name the whole way there. She only noticed me when I tapped her on the shoulder and said, "Cherry, it's me, Ponyboy."

She turned to face me and looked around nervously. "Oh, hi, Ponyboy."

"Look, Dally's in jail. Wanna help me bail him out?"

She looked a little taken aback. She shuffled and replied, "I-I don't know, Pony. My folks aren't too happy about, well, Bob's death and all... I don't think they'd like me just giving away money ... to- to bail out a... a hood."

I got a real angry feeling in my chest. "Oh. I see."

"Look, I'm real sorry, Ponyboy-"

"No. I get it. We're just greasers. Ain't nothing gonna touch us, so why bother helpin' us out? We don't give a hoot about jail time, it happens all the time. Honest."

"Ponyboy-"

"Bye Cherry. Good luck at the football game tomorrow. Break a leg." Really. Before she could say anything else, I walked away. I'd actually gone and asked for help, do you know how hard that is to do? It's like admitting you can't do it alone, you _need_ someone else. And she _could_ help, but she won't, just like every other Soc in the book. She wasn't something special after all.

On the way outside, I bumped into my English teacher. I think it bothered him, too, the way I was goofing up. He's a real good guy, who makes us think, and you can tell he's interested in you as a person, too.

"Ah, Ponyboy, I've been meaning to talk to you. It's about your grades."

Man, I wished I could beat it out of there. I probably could've, but I might've tripped and that would be awful embarrassing. I knew I was flunking out in that class, but golly, I couldn't help it.

"There's not much to talk about, judging from your scores. Pony, I'll give it to you straight. You're failing this class right now, but taking into consideration the circumstances, if you come up with a good semester theme, I'll pass you with a C grade."

"Taking into consideration the circumstances-" brother, was that ever a way to tell me he knew I was goofing up because I'd been in a lot of trouble. At least that was the roundabout way of putting it. The first week of school after the hearing had been awful. People I knew wouldn't talk to me, and people I didn't know would come right up and ask about the whole mess. Sometimes even teachers. And my history teacher- _she_ acted as if she was scared of me, even though I'd never caused any trouble in her class. You can bet that made me feel real tuff.

"Yessir," I said, "I'll try. What's the theme supposed to be on?"

"Anything you think is important enough to write about. And it isn't a reference theme; I want you own ideas and your own experiences."

My first trip to the zoo. Oh, boy, oh, boy. "Yessir," I said, and got out of there as fast as I could.

At lunch hour I met Two-Bit and Steve out in the back parking lot and we drove over to a little neighbourhood grocery store to buy cigarettes and Cokes and candy bars. The store was the grease hang-out and that was about all we ever had for lunch. The Socs were causing a lot of trouble in the school cafeteria - throwing silverware and stuff - and everybody tried to blame it on us greasers. We all got a big laugh out of that. Greasers rarely even eat in the cafeteria.

I was sitting on the fender of Steve's car, smoking and drinking a Pepsi while he and Two-Bit were inside talking to some girls, when a car drove up and three Socs got out. I just sat there and looked at them and took another swallow of Pepsi. I wasn't scared. It was the oddest feeling in the world. I didn't feel _anything_- scared, mad or anything. Just zero.

"You're the guy that killed Bob Sheldon," one of them said. "And he was a friend of ours. We don't like nobody killing our friends, especially greasers."

Big deal. I busted the end off my bottle and held onto the neck and tossed away my cigarette. "You get back into your car or you'll get split."

They looked kind of surprised, and one of them backed up.

"I mean it." I hopped off the car. "I've had about all I can take from you guys." I started toward them, holding the bottle the way Tim Shepard holds a switch - out and away from himself, in a loose but firm hold. I guess they knew I meant business, because they got into their car and drove off.

"You really would have used that bottle, wouldn't you?" Two-Bit had been watching from the doorway. "Steve and me were backing you, but I guess we didn't need to. You'd have really cut them up, huh?"

"I guess so," I said with a sigh. I didn't see what Two-Bit was sweating about - anyone else could have done the same thing and he wouldn't have thought about it twice.

"Ponyboy, listen, don't get tough. You're not like the rest of us and don't try to be..."

What was the matter with Two-Bit? I knew as well as he did that if you got tough you didn't get hurt. Get smart and nothing can touch you...

"What in the world are you doing?" Two-Bit's voice broke into my thoughts.

I looked up at him. "Picking up the glass."

He stared at me for a second, then grinned. "You little sonofagun," he said in a relieved voice. I didn't know what he was talking about, so I just went on picking up the glass from the bottle end and threw it in the trash can. I didn't want anyone to get a flat tire.

I tried to write that theme when I got home. I really did, mostly because Darry told me to or else. I thought about writing about Dad, but I couldn't. It's going to be a long time before I can even think about my parents. A long time. I tried writing about Soda's horse, Mickey Mouse, but I couldn't get it right; it always came out sounding corny. So I started writing names across the paper. Darrel Shaynne Curtis, Jr. Soda Patrick Curtis. Ponyboy Michael Curtis. Then I drew horses all over it. _That_ was going to get a good grade like all git-out.

"Hey, did the mail come in yet?" Soda slammed the door and yelled for the mail, just the way he does every day when he comes home from work. I was in the bedroom, but I knew he would throw his jacket toward the sofa and miss it, take off his shoes, and go into the kitchen for a glass of chocolate milk, because that's what he does every day of his life. He always runs around in his stocking feet- he doesn't like shoes.

Then he did a funny thing. He came in and flopped down on the bed and started smoking a cigarette. He hardly ever smokes, except when something is really bugging him or he wants to look tough. And he doesn't have to impress us; we know he's tough. So I figured something was bothering him. "How was work?"

"Okay."

"Something wrong?"

He shook his head. I shrugged and went back to drawing horses.

Soda cooked dinner that night, and everything came out right. That was unusual, because he's always trying something different. One time we had green pancakes. Green. I can tell you one thing: if you've got a brother like Sodapop, you're never bored.

All through supper Soda was quiet, and he didn't eat much. That was really unusual. Most of the time you can't shut him up or fill him up. Darry didn't seem to notice, so I didn't say anything.

Then after supper me and Darry got into a fuss, about the fourth one we'd had that week. This one started because I hadn't done anything on that theme, and I wanted to go for a ride. It used to be that I'd just stand there and let Darry yell at me, but lately I'd been yelling right back.

"What's the sweat about my schoolwork?" I finally shouted. "I'll have to get a job as soon as I get out of school anyway. Look at Soda. He's doing okay and he dropped out. So you can just lay off!"

"You're not going to drop out. Listen, with your brains and grades you could get a scholarship, and we could put you through college. But schoolwork's not that point You're living in a vacuum, Pony, and you're going to have to cut it out. Johnny was our buddy, too, but you don't just stop living because you lose someone. I thought you knew that by now. You don't quit! And anytime you don't like the way I'm running things you can just get out."

I went tight and cold. We never talked about Johnny, or even Dallas, except for that one evening. "You'd like that, wouldn't you? You'd like me just to get out. Well, it's not that easy, is it, Soda?" But when I looked at Soda I stopped. His face was white, and when he looked at me his eyes were wide with a pained expression. I suddenly remembered Curly Shepard's face when he fell off a telephone pole and broke his arm.

"Don't... Oh, you guys, why can't you..." He jumped up suddenly and bolted out the door. Darry and I were struck dumb. Darry picked up the envelope that Soda had dropped.

"It's the letter he wrote to Sandy," Darry said without expression. "Returned unopened."

So that was what had been bugging Soda all afternoon. And I hadn't even bothered to find out. And while I was thinking about it, I realized I never had paid much attention to Soda's problems. Darry and I just took it for granted that he didn't have any.

"When Sandy went to Florida... It wasn't Soda, Ponyboy. He told me her loved her, but I guess she didn't love him like he thought she did, because it wasn't him."

"You don't have to draw me a picture," I said.

"He wanted to marry her anyway, but she just left." Darry was looking at me with a puzzled expression. "Why didn't he tell you? I didn't think he'd tell Steve or Two-Bit, but I thought he told you everything."

"Maybe he tried," I said. How many times had Soda started to tell me something, only to find I was daydreaming or stuck in a book? He would always listen to me, no matter what he was doing.

"He cried every night that you were gone," Darry said slowly. "Both you and Sandy in the same week." He put the envelope down. "Come on, let's go after him."

We chased him clear to the park. We were gaining on him, but he had a block's head start.

"Circle around and cut him off," Darry ordered. Even out of condition I was the best runner. "I'll stay right behind him."

I headed through the trees and cut him off halfway across the park. He veered off to the right, but I caught him in a flying tackle before he'd gone more than a couple of steps. It knocked the wind out of both of us. We lay there gasping for a minute or two, and then Soda sat up and brushed the grass off his shirt.

"You should have gone out for football instead of track."

"Where did you think you were going?" I lay flat on my back and looked at him. Darry came up and dropped down beside us.

Soda shrugged. "I don't know. It's just... I can't stand to hear y'all fight. Sometimes... I just have to get out or... it's like I'm the middleman in tug o' war and I'm being split in half. You dig?"

Darry gave me a startled look. Neither of us had realized what it was doing to Soda to hear us fight. I was sick and cold with shame. What he said was the truth. Darry and I did play tug of war with him, with never a thought to how much it was hurting him.

Soda was fiddling with some dead grass. "I mean, I can't take sides. It's be a lot easier if I could, but I see both sides. Darry yells too much and tries to hard and takes everything too serious, and Ponyboy, you don't think enough, you don't realize all Darry's giving up just to give you a chance he missed out on. He could've stuck you in a home somewhere and worked his way through college. Ponyboy, I'm telling you the truth. I dropped out because I'm dumb. I really did try in school, but you saw my grades. Look, I'm happy working in a gas station with cars. You'd never be happy doing something like that. And Darry, you ought to try to understand him more, and quit bugging him about every little mistake he makes. He feels things differently than you do." He gave us a pleading look. "Golly, you two, it's bad enough having to listen to it, but when you start trying to get me to take sides..." Tears welled up in his eyes. "We're all we've got left. We ought to be able to stick together against everything. If we don't have eachother, we don't have anything. If you don't have anything, you end up like Dallas... and I don't mean jailed, either. I mean like he is, and that's worse than being dead. Please" -he wiped his eyes on his arm- "don't fight anymore."

Darry looked real worried. I suddenly realized that Darry was only twenty, that he wasn't so much older that he couldn't feel scared or hurt and as lost as the rest of us. I saw that I had expected Darry to do all the understanding without even trying to understand him. And he _had_ given up a lot for Soda and me.

"Sure, little buddy," Darry said softly. "We're not going to fight anymore."

"Hey, Ponyboy" -Soda gave me a tearful grin- "don't you start crying, too. One bawl-baby in this family's enough."

"I'm not crying," I said. Maybe I was. I don't remember. Soda gave me a playful punch on the shoulder.

"No more fights. Okay, Ponyboy?" Darry said.

"Okay," I said. And I meant it. Darry and I would probably still have misunderstandings - we were too different not to - but no more fights. We couldn't do anything to hurt Soda. Sodapop would always be the middleman, but that didn't mean he had to keep getting pulled apart. Instead of Darry and me pulling me apart, he'd be pulling me together.

"Well," Soda said, "I'm cold. How about going home?"

"Race you," I challenged, leaping up. It was a real nice night for a race. The air was cold and clear and so clean it almost sparkled. The moon wasn't out but the stars lit up everything. It was quiet except for the sound of our feet on the cement and the dry, scraping sound of leaves blowing across the street. It was a real nice night. I guess I was still out of shape, because we all three tied. No. I guess we all just wanted to stay together.

As soon as we got back inside, the phone rang. Darry answered it.

"Hello? Oh! Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Really? Ok. See you soon, Dally."

My stomach clenched. I was reminded of another phone call from Dally on another night, another horrible night...

"That was Dally. He's had his trial already and everything. He was sentenced to a year, but he's been bailed out. You'll never guess who."

Darry paused, so Soda asked, "Who?"

"Cherry Valance."

My jaw hit the floor. "No way!"

Darry nodded. "She drove him down to the high school. Said he's gonna stay there for the night and he'll be up here in the morning."

I started laughing. I'm not really sure why, I think I was just so glad that Dally was a free man again. Maybe I was also happy that Cherry really was a different kind of Soc. Not really a Soc at all. I guess I was pretty funny, because soon Darry and Sodapop were laughing too. We laughed until Darry told me to get back upstairs and do my homework. I stuck my tongue out but didn't argue. Soda gave me a thumbs-up.

I still didn't know what to write about, though. I hunted around for a book to read, but I'd read everything in the house about fifty million times, even Darry's copy of _The__Carpetbaggers,_ though he'd told me I was too young to read it. I thought so too after I finished it. Finally I picked up _Gone__with__the__Wind_ and looked at it a long time. I knew Johnny was dead. I had known it all the time, even while I was sick and pretending he wasn't. It was Johnny, not me, who had killed Bob - I knew that too. I had just thought that if I played like Johnny wasn't dead it wouldn't hurt so much.

It still hurt anyway. You know a guy a long time, and I mean really know him, you don't get used to the idea that he's dead just overnight. Johnny was something more than a buddy to all of us. I guess he had listened to more beefs and problems from more people than any of us. A guy that'll really listen to you, listen and care about what you're saying, is a rare thing. And I couldn't forget him telling me that he hadn't done enough, hadn't been out of our neighbourhood all his life - and then it was too late. I took a deep breath and opened the book. A slip of paper feel out onto the floor and I picked it up.

_Ponyboy,__I__asked__the__nurse__to__give__you__this__book__so__you__could__finish__it._It was Johnny's handwriting. I went on reading, almost hearing Johnny's quiet voice._The__doctor__came__in__a__while__ago__but__I__knew__anyway.__I__keep__getting__tireder__and__tireder.__Listen,__I__don't__mind__dying__now.__It's__worth__it.__It's__worth__saving__those__kids.__Their__lives__are__worth__more__than__mine,__they__have__more__to__live__for.__Some__of__their__parents__came__by__to__thank__me__and__I__know__it__was__worth__it.__Tell__Dally__it's__worth__it.__I'm__just__going__to__miss__you__guys.__I've__been__thinking__about__it,__and__that__poem,__that__guy__that__wrote__it,__he__meant__you're__gold__when__you're__a__kid,__like__green.__When__you're__a__kid__everything's__new,__dawn.__It's__just__when__you__get__used__to__everything__that__it's__day.__Like__the__way__you__dig__sunsets,__Pony.__That's__gold.__Keep__that__way,__it's__a__good__way__to__be.__I__want__you__to__tell__Dally__to__look__at__one.__He'll__probably__think__you're__crazy,__but__ask__for__me.__I__don't__think__he's__ever__really__seen__a__sunset.__And__don't__be__so__bugged__over__being__a__greaser.__You__still__have__a__lot__of__time__to__make__yourself__be__what__you__want.__There's__still__lots__of__good__in__the__world.__Tell__Dally.__I__don't__think__he__knows.__Your__buddy,__Johnny._

Tell Dally. Tell Dally. Tomorrow. When he came to our house tomorrow morning, the first thing I would do was show him this, or read it to him, depending on what kind of mood he was in. Tell Dally.

And I would stay gold. Gold? Was that really the right word for it? I was just dreamy. Did that make me golden? It didn't really matter, I don't think I could change if I wanted to. But I would keep watching sunsets now. Everyday, if I could. I would make Johnny real proud of me.

I read that letter a lot that night. Over and over, probably about as many times as I've read every book in our house. When I finally fell asleep, I bet Soda or Darry came in wondering what that page in my hand was.

The next morning, as promised, there was Dally, eating the chocolate cake he'd found in our fridge. I was the first one up, and I'd come down to make breakfast. But, Dally, doing another unDally-like thing, had made some toast and one pancake. Which already had a bite out of it. Okay, so maybe it was quite so unDally-like. I grinned at him. "Hey, Dally," I said.

He looked up at me and smiled. "Hey, kid. Wanna pancake?"

I laughed. "It's all yours."

He dug into the chocolate cake. "I hope you don't mind, but I called Two-Bit and Steve, told them to come over here right away. I want y'all here when I say good-bye."

An alarm went off. "Goodbye? What d'you mean?"

"Kid, I can't stay here. Got Johnny written all over it. I'm hopping the next train to the country. Maybe I'll get some fresh air or peace and quiet or something."

I can't explain it, but the thought of Dally leaving made me sad. He was our buddy, he couldn't just leave. It wouldn't be the same without him. Then again, I don't think it could ever be the same as it was before.

"Oh. Well, then, before you go-"

"Dally!" Two-Bit yelled, throwing open the front door. Steve rushed in right behind him, then kicked the door closed. "Thought we wouldn't see you for a while!"

Dally grinned. "You've got a Soc to thank for that."

"Yeah, that was some surprise," Steve said.

"Especially after the drive-in show," Two-Bit added.

"What can I say? She likes the bad-boy type, I guess." Dally kicked his feet up on the table and put his hands behind his head.

More than you know, I thought. Why had Cherry bailed Dallas out? I hadn't really thought about it. Did I guilt her into it? Did she like Dally more than she let on? I never found out.

Sodapop bounded down the stairs clad in only a pair of blue jeans. "Dall, is it ever good to see you!"

Darry was right behind him. "Good breakfast there, Ponyboy." He was grinning, though, so I figured he wasn't serious.

"Actually, that was all me," Dally said, "Now, hurry up and eat so I can catch my train."

The gang stared at him. "What d'you mean, Dallas?" Sodapop asked. He threw a T-shirt on and grabbed a piece of toast.

"I mean, I'm headin' out to the country today. At 11, actually, so we'd better get goin' if you want a proper good-bye."

They burst into uproar. Eventually, Darry calmed them down, long enough to ask, "Why you leavin'?"

"I'll tell y'all when we get there. Now eat, why don't ya?"

So we did. Well, Dally's good at making toast, I'll give him that. But to fill everyone up, we had to split up the chocolate cake and fight for a bite of the pancake. Darry went into the kitchen and came back with a baggie of food. He handed it to Dally, saying, "For the trip."

Just before we left, I remembered that I needed to tell Dally. I ran upstairs and pulled the letter out from under to covers. Then I raced back down the stairs and followed the procession out the door.

We made it to the station in good time. It was 10:50 by the time we got there, so we had about five minutes to say good-bye to Dally before his train showed up. I don't really know why none of us were trying to stop him. I guess we all understood why he couldn't stay.

While everyone was distracted by a few girls that passed by behind the window, I pulled Dallas aside. "This is from Johnny," I said. "Read it."

Because I really wasn't sure what to do, I stood there looking at him until he finished the letter. Almost immediately as soon as he started, his face got real hurt-looking, and I was tempted to just take it back and tell him to forget it. But I had to tell Dally. So I let him keep reading.

When he was finished, he handed the paper back to me and said, "There's still good in the world, huh? I guess I'll find out out there." He gestured to the railroad tracks. When I turned to look at them, I saw him rub his eyes on his arm. I pretended not to see.

Soon enough, we heard the all-too-familiar rumble of a train. We ran behind the platform, where the gang all said good-bye to Dally. Darry and Steve stuck to simply shaking Dally's hand, but Two-Bit, Soda and I broke down and gave him a hug. Oddly enough, he hugged back.

I pulled the letter out of my pocket and handed it back to Dallas. "You could use it more than I could right now," I said. "If I ever need it back, I'll let you know."

Dally smiled and tucked it away in his jacket. Just before the screech of the brakes would make it impossible to hear anything, Steve asked, "What are you gonna do out in the country, Dall?"

Dally got a thoughtful kind of look on his face. "I don't know. Sleep. Eat corn. Maybe watch a sunset or two." He looked down at me. "I'll write when I can."

The next moment, the train showed up, and Dallas crept along to board and open car near the back. When the train got going again, we waved at Dally as he passed, then watched the train go off into the woods until we couldn't see it anymore. Then we all turned and went back home.

I decided to write that theme no matter what when I got home. I was going to do it. Somehow though, my mind kept wandering back to Dally, and Johnny, and I wondered in my wild-imagination way if they would meet up wherever Dally was going. It was impossible, yeah, but they seemed like they were both going to be in the same place; peaceful and away from here.

I thought of Dally finding peace out in the country. What would have happened, I wondered, if I hadn't stopped him down in the lot? What if Dally had gone down under the street light, dead before he hit the ground? Suddenly it wasn't only a personal thing to me. I could picture hundreds and hundreds of boys living on the wrong sides of cities, boys with black eyes who jumped at their own shadows. Hundreds of boys who maybe watched sunsets and looked at the stars and ached for something better. I could see boys going down under street lights because they were mean and tough and hated the world, and it was too late to tell them that there was still good in it, and they wouldn't believe you if you did. It was too vast a problem to be just a personal thing. Dally was one of the lucky ones. There should be some help, someone should tell them before it was too late. Someone should tell their side of the story, and maybe people would understand then and wouldn't be so quick to judge a boy by the amount of hair oil he wore. It was important to me. I picked up the phone and called my English teacher.

"Mr. Syme, this is Ponyboy. That theme - how long can it be?"

"Why, uh, not less than five pages." He sounded a little surprised. I'd forgotten it was late at night.

"Can it be longer?"

"Certainly, Ponyboy, as long as you want it."

"Thanks," I said and hung up.

I sat down and picked up my pen and thought for a minute. Remembering. Remembering a handsome, dark boy with a reckless grin and a hot temper. A tough, tow-headed boy with a cigarette in his mouth that morphed into a shoot of wheat. Remembering - and this time it didn't hurt - a quiet, defeated-looking sixteen-year-old whose hair needed cutting badly and who had big black eyes with a frightened expression to them. One week had taken all three of them. And I decided _I_ could tell people, beginning with my English teacher. I wondered for a long time how to start the theme, how to start writing about something that was important to me. And I finally began like this: When I stepped out into the bright sunlight from the darkness of the movie theatre, I had only two things on my mind: Paul Newman and a ride home...

T H E E N D


End file.
